Centerfold
by WhoIsYourHero
Summary: Based off the song "Centerfold" by The J. Geils Band. The nations of the world come across a magazine with a certain country nude in the middle of it. Read the story of how each nation gets a hold of the magazine and see their reactions. Please note this is rated Mature for a reason. Although right now it is pretty soft. So Far: FrAme, RusAme, very slight UkUs
1. Mon ange est la page centrale

_**A/N: Ok I recommend listening to the song "Centerfold" by The J. Geils Band before or while reading this...because then it makes more sense.**_

_**Also I have a poll on my profile asking who you think should be the next country who sees this issues centerfold. If you are an anon then review and tell me your opinion or if you have an idea about how a country might act review or message me.**_

_**Disclaimer: No own hetalia or the song and band**_

_**Warning: This story will most likely have masturbation in it. So you are warned. Also...I can not believe France did not par take in anything sexual stimulating in this chapter... Surprise! Beware this contains m/m..well feelings..maybe relations in future but only time will tell.**_

**_Read at 3/4 view please_**

* * *

Pale fingers twisted into the edges of the magazine as the french man held it open to the center of the issue. Sapphire blue eyes peeked over the top of the magazine and had to stop himself from flinching when he saw the stores clerk was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

Francis shifted his weight onto his left leg, and let his gaze down one more time at the fairly large picture before snapping the magazine shut and striding with renewed confidence to the front counter to the greasy man. He wrinkled his nose when he reached the counter at the smell of stale sweat that practically poured from the man.

The french nation laid the issue softly on the counter and pulled out his wallet to flash his id at the man, who sighed and rung the price which stared lazily at the french man in the dark store. Pulling out the proper payment he set it on the counter, grabbed his newly acquired prize and left the store calling out to keep the change as he pushed the door open, and shivered at how the cold swam around him and embraced him as suddenly as he stepped out into the city.

Francis tucked his coat around the delicate pages and pulled up his collar to fend of the chill. He strode confidently around corners and through streets, passing his people and recalling their names as his eyes met theirs. He frowned slightly as he saw women...no children, he corrected himself, standing on corners and against buildings in scant clothing. They flashed skin where ever they could hoping someone would take them home to a warm bed for the night.

He fingered his wallet in his coat pocket, pulling out his id but leaving the credit cards remaining in the smooth leather that hugged the thick plastic. He walked lazily passed the group, and right when he got to where he was sure they would find it first, he pushed the wallet swiftly out of his pocket.

As soon as he heard the small 'thwump' he picked up his pace and sharply turned the next corner, continuing onwards to his upscale hotel room ignoring the voices of his children as they called from him to stop.

* * *

France huffed a short puff of cold air out of his nose as he settled into the plush leather seats of the taxi he had halted once he walked further into the city. Smoothing his hands over his coat, he silently felt up the magazine to make sure it was still securely cradled against his abdomen. Giving the decent sized mound a pat, he leaned over the seat to tell the driver the address.

Receiving a nod, he slumped back into the warm leather and closed his eyes. He could have sworn he had his eyes closed for only a second before a well callused hand was prodding him awake.

"Monsieur, we have arrived." The man called, grumbling something about having to hurry home under his breath.

France blinked wearily at the man and stifled his yawn before handing the taxi driver a wad of cash.

"M-monsieur! This is too much!" The driver called, only to receive a shrug.

"Get your son something nice for his birthday this weekend." He called over his shoulder with a small smile; leaving the man to stare listlessly at the blond nations retreating back.

* * *

After what seemed like hours, France finally reached his apartment door. Pulling out his key card he slid it through the slot and shouldered the door open. The tired nation toed off his shoes by the door, and stumbled with all the grace the country of L'Amour still maintained with a half way functioning body.

Francis slumped his shoulders and slid out of his coat leaving it to pool on the wooden floor of the hallway; choosing to leave it there in favor of drifting to his room. Once there, he shimmed out of his well ironed trousers and his deep maroon shirt; which left the nation completely nude.

Crawling into the warm satin sheets, he stretched his tight muscles out and shivered as he heard his vertebrea snap loudly back into place. He shifted on his side and leaned over to his night stand, running his fingers over the shiny cover before flipping it directly to the center once more.

"_Oh _ _Mon dieu~_" France breathed out feeling the tall tale prickle across his flesh at the picture of the person posing so...

_sensually_.

He ran his finger tip over the smooth tan legs that were coiled in deep royal blue ribbons, and groaned lightly at the teasing curve of tight ass that was not hidden by the flow of silk that seem to flow with the man's body. It caressed tanned abs, teased dusky nipples, and outlined that beautifully thick cock.

"_Oh Amérique..what have you gotten your self into_?" Francis shivered for an entirely different reason than the cold, as his eyes ran over the flexing biceps of the man. His finger continued its journey, and soon the well manicured finger nail tapped lightly over soft peach lips where it then slid to flushed cheeks that complemented the man's baby blues.

The tired nation, panted and tried to will away his erection as he curled his toes into the duvet. He shifted once more to his other side giving one last longing glance to the magazine before pulled the chain hanging from the bedside lamp, submerging himself in calming darkness hoping it would 'calm' his problem and allow him to drift off to sleep so he would be well rested for tomorrows world meeting.

"_Mon Ange est la page centrale~_" France sang sleepily to himself, as he curled comfortably in his bed, and smiled happily once sleep finally came to claim him.


	2. Мой ангел является развороте

_Here it is after a loooong hiatus. Sorry. Hopefully next chapter will be posted soon and not in two years._

* * *

**Russia's Version**

* * *

Gloved hands rolled over the leather arms of the chair as the owner of said hands leaned back, and in one swift motion tucked his boots onto the immaculate desk. Shifting his weight, Ivan thumbed through a stack of documents sent to him by his boss, balancing his ornate wooden pipe in his upturned palm. Sighing he allowed the pristine papers to slip onto the floor in favor of mouthing his pipe in thought.

Things had been...hectic lately to say the least. What with the problems with Ukraine and the others. His pale lips curled around the pipe spitefully, they had no right to interfere with his business. It was strictly a family matter, not a pie that his fellow U.N. members could stick their grubby fingers in. Ivan let out a soft huff, allowing the smoke to caress his pale lips before drifting off to the ceiling. Ivan closed his eyes, scrubbing a hand through his hair until suddenly he jolted upright, sliding his feet firmly on the floor, he loomed over his desk.

Frozen in thought.

For a moment everything seemed to become dull as Ivan stared at the wooden grain of his desk. Thoughtfully chewing on his bottom lip, Ivan's violet orbs rolled to his immediate left to stare at a forlorn file cabinet. His gloved fingers twitched before pushing his form upward. Ivan glared at the middle drawer and cursed himself as he dug through his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Between the folds of leather, Ivan acquired a small silver key which he thrusted into the middle drawers lock. With a flick of his wrist the drawer heaved it's rusty drawer outward, allowing Ivan to stare blankly at the contents.

Ivan let out a dry laugh and pulled out the magazine, brushing the dust of of the seedy cover to expose the breasts of some woman forgotten in time. He shook his head and sunk into his chair, ignoring the soft screech as the chair took on his weight. The Russian lazily flipped through the yellowing pages to the center and could not hold back the rueful grin that stretched over his lips.

There was Alfred.

Arching his back and posed delicately on a once white draped fabric. The, what looked to be, velvet brushed against the American's strong thighs and curled around the man's ample tanned rump as he stretched out a thin sheet of red silk in a poor attempt to cover his erect genitalia. The sad quirk of Ivan's lips disappeared as he now turned to look at Alfred's bashful expression. His tanned cheeks were tinted a overdramaticised pink and his eyes peaked beneath "long" to some would seem innocent and sexy, all Ivan could feel was disgust as he sneered at the idiot.

* * *

It had been 1942 when Alfred started to pose for this garbage. Ivan did not believe it at first, in fact he refused to believe that someone so prideful would stoop to that level. Not until his boss threw the magazine in his face did he finally accept the truth. It boggled his mind now just as much as it did then. Dropping the magazine on his desk, Ivan leaned back in is chair and pressed his gloved fingertips into his temples. He had seen through this act before and it sickened him to know that Alfred was still most likely posing for this trash. Ivan had confronted him before, shoving the picture into Alfred's face taunting him that he would send it to every nation. Alfred didn't even blink, in fact he shoved the taller man's arm away and laughed in his face. Ivan was a sucker for that. He couldn't handle being taunting and laughed at and so the magazine was quickly forgotten in favor of punching the other in the gut. What were punches turned to grapples until somehow Alfred's back was pressed into the wall, and they were both staring silently at each other. Ivan's lips quirked up as he remembered how Alfred reacted when he grasped the other's jaw and bite into his soft neck. Alfred had let out a groan and a short bark of laughter "_Fucking finally"_ he had whispered.

The rest of the night had been a blur of Alfred's hands pressed against the ugliest wallpaper Ivan had ever seen, and Ivan's calloused hands grasping the American's waist as the moved in sync to the rough and quick pace they both needed. That was Alfred. Not some cheap whore that filled the American's alleyways. The Russian opened his eyes and stared down at his gloved hand that was covered with his spilled seed. Grumbling he tucked himself into his pants and moved to find his tissue box when his gaze lingered over his desk and he let a chuckle of laughter bubble out between his lips. Alfred's provocatively posed body had been on the receiving end of the Russian's aim, as the picture was now covered with thick streams of cum. Gazing at the picture as he ripped off his gloves, Ivan burst into haughty laughter.

He knew how to keep them out of his business.

_Give them a scandal and they would forget all about him and his family._

Crouching down he pulled out an unmarked envelope and scrawled the address of the front. Ivan grinned down at Alfred's stained face one last time before ripping out the centerfold and stuffing it neatly into the envelope. Alfred wouldn't know what hit him. Ivan pressed the call button on his phone and a young man answered. "Y-yes Sir?" The person on the end stuttered which caused Ivan to click his tongue and shake his head at the sound of the mousey kid running the mail room. "I need a letter sent immediately. Use all precautions and be discreet." "

Of course! May I know where it needs to be sent?"

**_"England."_**


	3. My Angel is the Centerfold

Two chapters in one day. Hurray. Hopefully I will stay on this writing high and keep popping out new chapters.

* * *

**Sealand's & England's Version**

* * *

Peter let out a sigh and slouched as he walked down the hallway. Stupid old fat Arthur. He hated visiting the older nation because every time it seemed like once he stepped into Arthur's old rickety house, he ceased to exist. Stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, Sealand kicked at the old mold colored carpet. Arthur would regret it one day. Once he becomes big and strong, all the nations will notice him and beg him to be their friends! With a renewed sense of hope, Peter sprinted down the hallway but soon skidded to a stop when a chime rang out through the main hall.

Curiosity got the better of him and Peter soon found himself confronted with a letter that had been dropped through the mail slot. Sealand scrunched up his eyebrows as he turned the envelope over in his hands. How suspicious. There was no return address and Peter had seen enough movies to know that any good hero would be super cautious. Holding up the letter to a near by lamp, Sealand squinted at the contents but frowned when all he could make out was a dark colored rectangle. Some evil that is. Peter huffed dramatically, off put by the seemingly innocent envelope. He wanted danger. He wanted excitement. But most of all he wanted to know something Arthur didn't. Looking at the envelope once more, Peter tucked it under his arm and ran in the direction of his room. England would never think to look there! Peter giggled to himself as he booked it down the hallway and towards the stairs.

He was almost to the first step when a hand appeared out of nowhere and snatched the back of his collar, causing the young nation to wheeze and cough. "O-oh my fucking God!" Peter rasped rubbing at his red neck carefully. The hand which had just grasped the back of Sealand's shirt came down hard on the back of the younger nation's head. "I did not raise you to spout off phrases that sound like something from one of Alfred's vile television shows!" Arthur grumbled and stared pointedly down at Sealand, only to be met with a blank gaze. "Are you kidding me?! You say stuff ten times worse than that everyday!" Peter touched his scalp gingerly and pouted "Why you gotta be so mean Arthur?" before sliding past the other nation and up the stairs, being mindful to keep his secret package tucked beneath his arm.

Once inside his room, Sealand launched himself onto the bed and burst out into a fit of giggles. Arthur's face was priceless! If he could tell Arthur off then maybe being an empire would be a piece of cake! After the chuckles faded away, Peter threw the covers over himself and dug under his pillow for his flashlight. Grabbing the cylinder, Peter wiggled with anticipation as he tore into the envelope noting that the handwriting was not one he recognized, not that anyone wrote him anyway. Peter shrugged off the mental comment and pulled out the mysterious rectangle.

Staring at it and turning it over, it didn't seem like much, but there was only one way to find out.

* * *

Arthur frowned and stared at the retreating back of the boy. He had been to harsh. He realized it the moment his hand fell to his side. He had not meant to grasp the other that hard, but then again he had not been expecting Peter to be running that fast. Arthur twiddled his fingers nervously. He had reacted out of instinct. He had done the same thing many times before to a boy with eyes the same color as Sealand's. But it was not _him_, Arthur had to repeat over and over again as he gazed at the door which had been slammed shut only moments before. He had to apologize. He could not ruin this relationship. He would not allow it to become like it did with _him._

So Arthur took the stairs two at a time, leaning against the banister for a moment to make up his mind on what exactly he was going to say, before he took the last few steps toward the door. "Peter, may I come in?" Arthur called only to be met with silence. The boy must still be too angry to speak, which Arthur did not blame him for. With a nod of understanding, Arthur made his way towards the stairs once more before he stopped. This was Peter. PETER. He was never quiet. In fact Arthur could not remember a single moment in which Peter was silent. Turning on his heel, Arthur quickly turned the knob and flung open the door.

Only to see a mass of blankets on Peter's bed.

"Peter?" Arthur yanked the covers off of the boy and proceeded to let them slip onto the floor as his eyes met the frazzled and blushing face of Peter.

Arthur's eyes quickly scanned the scene, his brain seeming to process everything slower than it should have. There was Sealand stuttering some nonsense and in his shaking hands was a spread of a man nude. Sealand is looking at porn. Arthur sneered and snatched the photo from the younger, waving it around angrily. "What the fuck do you think you are doing?! I had no idea I was raising a pervert!" Arthur fumed and crossed his arms, crinkling the picture as he did so.

Peter shook and babbled on about finding the letter in the hall, and he held up the ripped envelope for England to see. "I-I thought it was some secret info, I promise!" Peter begged and offered up the envelope once more.

Arthur shot the other a puzzled look and took the folded paper into his empty hand. "There is no return address..."He trailed off and Sealand perked up "I noticed that too! I thought it seemed too odd not to check it out". He explained, nodding his head and patting his still brightly illuminated face. Arthur turned the picture over and seemed to zone out as his eyes lingered over the form which was spread across the crumpled up page.

"A-alfred?!" Arthur paled and stumbled backwards over the comforters on the floor, tripping over himself as he raced out the door. Peter sat there on the bed and buried his face into his pillow. If an empire had to deal with this, maybe it would be better if he just stayed invisible.

England trudged down the stairs and towards his study, slamming the door behind him and sliding onto the floor. Arthur pressed his fingers onto the bridge of his nose in a weak attempt to rid himself of all the stress which once again come to rest in his lap. How could this happen, better yet who would have sent this to him in the first place? Looking at the picture once more, Arthur twitched as he noticed the crusted on stains on the picture, biting his lip roughly Arthur flung the picture on the floor and attempted to control his gag reflex.

"O-oh God" the words bubbled out before he could stop them. He did not need to see that. Did not need to see the little one he loved so long ago posed like that. Displayed for any and all to see. He shuddered and pulled himself up from the floor to sit on the edge of his desk, pumping an abundant amount of hand sanitizer into his hands before scrubbing them together violent. Alfred is no _was_, his precious angel. For someone to have defiled him in such a way... Arthur gripped the edge of the desk roughly, digging into the wood with his blunt nails. He had to tell Alfred. Before anyone else did. Reaching for the phone, the older nation quickly dialed Alfred's cell number and was met with his voicemail. With a deep breath Arthur stammered out a plea for the American to hurry and call him back, telling him it was urgent. England flopped back to lay on his desk, and let out a slow breath.

How did Alfred get himself caught up in something like this?


End file.
